Something Slender This Way Comes
by TheRockNRollBeauty
Summary: Something's stalking Alfred Jones. Something that lurks within the shadows, something that grows the more terrified he becomes. Something that reminds him of his past guilt. Slenderman!Russia, RusAme AU. Rated for noncon, gore, and general horror.
1. Alfred

**Hey guys! So, this is the fic I've been working on for the Russiamerica LJ community's Fantasy event. :) **

**This was written for the Dark Fantasy weeks, and borrows heavily from the Slenderman mythos, and is inspired by GeminiStar01's fic "Slender."**

**There are a lot of warnings for this fic, including: noncon, tentacles, intense gore, and eventual character death. For this chapter, there's a bit of noncon, creepiness, and some tentacles, but nothing too extreme.**

**With that said, read on!**

**Ch 1: Alfred**

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><p>It starts innocuously enough.<p>

Alfred thinks it a prank, some stupid prank pulled by his floormates. Ever since last semester's Halloween party, his entire dorm building knew and liked to exploit his fear of ghosts and other supernatural creatures. From red dye painted on the mirrors to his so called "friends" hiding in his room with monster masks the pranks never seemed to let up.

So the first time he hears scratching on his window he just hides his head under his pillow, trying to stuff toilet paper in his ears, convinced it just some stupid prank that Gilbert or something other douchebag is trying to play to get a rise out of him. Probably eager to add to their collection of "Pussy Alfred" pictures on Facebook. He dismisses the initial creepy feeling as simply his own paranoia, something he would have to get over in order to eventually laugh in all his tormentor's faces, and maybe someday scare the shit out of the as well.

But soon enough Alfred starts to feel like he's being watched—when he walks home from class, when he eats by the window in the dining hall, even when he's sitting doing homework in his room with the curtains drawn. And he can't shake it, the growing feeling of dread that accompanies him everyday and keeps his head tucked into his pillow at night, refusing to look at his room and distort every odd shadow into something with claws and teeth and arms and eyes.

Soon, after a few days of feeling constantly on edge, Alfred begins to see _things_ out of the corner of his eyes. Something that just barely slips out from behind a tree, something that perches on the roofs of the lecture halls, something that follows him.

One day, he catches sight of it. He's walking on the pathway to his English literature class, hands shoved lazily in his pockets, music playing loudly over the headphones plugged into his ears.

By chance, he glances up, eyes roving absentmindedly over the walkway ahead of him, when something on the wayside, amidst the trees lining the sidewalk, catches his eye.

It's the shadow—the shadow again, but this time it lingers a little longer in Alfred's eye of sight, just enough beyond a sliver behind one of the beech trees to be completely visible.

Alfred stopped in his tracks, eyes frozen on what was certainly a humanoid figure looking—_or was it looking, Alfred couldn't see any eyes—_directly at him.

He swallowed hard, unable to look away at what _it_ was.

_A suit, a blank face, shocks of silver-white hair falling over it. _

And then it was gone, vanished right before Alfred's eyes as if it had melted into the surrounding beech trees.

Alfred lets out an embarrassing squeak as someone bumps into him from behind. Tears prick at his eyes as he whirls around, only to see Gilbert's tiger-like grin. He laughs at Alfred's panicked expression and the beginning wetness in his eyes, thumping him again on the back as Alfred casts down his eyes in embarrassment. But even as Gilbert slings an arm over his shoulders and distracts him from the brief bit of terror with colorful stories, Alfred can't kick the dread that looms up in him and makes him to afraid to cast a glance behind him to see again just _what_ might be watching him.

The next few days drain Alfred both physically and mentally. He finds that he can't sleep most nights, and when he does, his rest is fitful and marred by specters that float out of the dark of dreams, their terrible blank faces haunting him until he wakes up with a terrified whimper and a cold sweat all over his body.

The worst part is that monster—if that was what it really was, a _monster_ and not just a figment of his imagination—seems to grow with Alfred's own paranoia and fear. The more terrified Alfred becomes the more the monster appears, until every time Alfred whirls around to look behind him he's sees it in a glimpse before it dodges out of his view.

In the corner of his eyes it grows from a slip of shadows to a specter grown so _tall _that it rivals the trees, seemingly conscious of its own actions, of the way it follows Alfred, _stalks_ him.

Alfred hates how he feels trapped, like an animal caught in a cage while its terrible faceless master pokes and prods and _watches_ him.

But still, Alfred hopes, _prays_ that this is all that the creature can do. That perhaps it's only the lack of sleep thats amped his paranoia and caused him to hallucinate such terrible things. Alfred can only hope that once the stress of freshman year dies down he will be able to sleep and rest his brain and eventually the terrible illusions will slow and stop.

Then, one night, Alfred's whispered hope is completely shattered.

It's darker than usual on the particular night, as Alfred walks out of an especially late evening class, yawning and stretching his limbs. His heavy bookbag sags on his shoulder as he begins to walk out into the brisk, windy air. And although he keeps his eyes trained onto the barely lit walkway out of fear of looking over his shoulder, Alfred can't deny the warm, happy feeling in his chest.

This is the night of the week were Alfred goes to stay with his twin brother, Matthew, who lives in an off-campus apartment close by to Alfred's late night class. Alfred couldn't help the little spring in his step as he thought of spending time with his brother—given that they didn't see each other much during the day due to their different schedules.

Even though Matthew was his twin, he was a year ahead of him in school. While Matthew had gone to college right after school, Alfred had decided to stay home and try to kick off his photography career. But as much as Alfred had wanted to deny that he was fine, he _had _missed his older twin. So Alfred had applied to the same school as Matthew the next year and, thankfully, had got in. Matthew had been excited as well, although he had insisted that Alfred live in one of the first year dorms instead of the small apartment, to keep both of them relatively sane.

The wind whistles a bit louder, starting Alfred out of thoughts of the midnight pancakes his brother would make and the comfort that came with being with his twin. Alfred shivered, pulling his jacket closer around himself. His eyes remain downcast, even as the distinct and familiar feeling of being watched from afar begins to overtake him again.

_It's okay, Alfred, just—just ignore it, it's not real, not real, just keep walking, just ignore it's not real it's not—_

Suddenly he feels something cold curls over his shoulder, brushing up against his bare neck, and he starts, eyes fixed on the floor. He hates the trembling in his hands as the frigid feeling grips like a hand, pricking up the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck. He gasps at the sudden pressure, and, heart thumping, whirls around.

He freezes.

_The specter has come out of the shadows._

For the first time Alfred can see the _thing_ for what it really is, exposed in all it's horrifying, _real_ glory.

And he screams.

As he screams there's a change in the monster's face. The white fabric tears across like there's a black ballon expanding underneath except the spectre's face just split into some semblance of a tattered grin, leering at Alfred from across the pathway.

Alfred's entire body is trembling but at the same time he can't move, rooted to the spot, feet cemented into the sidewalk as he stares at the looming monster that _can't be real, can't be real oh God this has to be a joke please—_

The specter jerks, unnaturally twitching its limbs, and Alfred starts, hand coming up in front of his chest in reflex. He opens and closes his mouth uselessly as the creature's body looks to flicker and morph and _change._

It's like the creature's arms are—extending, pulling in shadows across the sidewalk _towards him_.

It's too nightmarish to be real, too impossible to be standing before him. Alfred hopes he will wake up, that he will wake up in only a few minutes—or maybe Gilbert or Matthias will jump out from behind the trees and mock him and give him shit for being such a pussy—

He's only brought out of his locked position when something rushes past his cheek and _cuts_ him.

Alfred claps a hand to the side of his face as the sharp pain stabs him, the realization coming in quick and hard that the _thing_ was real, not a hallucination, and it was physical and could _hurt_ him.

_Kill him_.

Alfred wishes he could scream again, but the blind terror of the creature's appearance and the reality of the painful wound on his face makes his throat close around a terrified whine.

The pain, though, manages to break him out of the trance and he turns away from the creature to run, making it a few steps before something grabs onto his ankle, twisting it and tripping him. Alfred cries out as he falls and smacks the ground ground chin cracking against the cement. His bag lands with a heavy thump and his textbooks slide out over the ground.

Alfred claws at the sidewalk, trying to pull himself back up on his feet even as he feels the monster drag him back, his shirt riding up and his skin scraping roughly against the ground.

He squirms and rolls over on his back—and his voice catches in horror in his throat.

The monster's face hovers right above him, scraggly bits of pale hair drooping over the blank face marred with the tear of a mouth, the rips dangling like jagged teeth and looking ready to bite and tear and _kill_. Against the darkness of the starry sky Alfred can see a swarm of shadowy appendages hovering over the monster, poised and—in Alfred's mind—ready to tear him to bits.

He feels something snake up his pant leg and he trembles against it, trying to kick out his legs to get it away, but its hopeless as he feels a slick appendage crawl under the fabric of his boxers.

He cringes and screams as the creature touches him between the legs, slipping in between the crack of his ass.

Alfred feels like he's about to vomit, clenching himself tight against the intrusion.

_No, no no no this was sick, it was touching him _there—

He shoves a hand into the creature's face in a desperate motion and is surprised to find something tangible—_cold_, frighteningly cold, but still there, capable of being damaged—

But the brief hope is crushed as the monster's mouth rips wider under Alfred's fingers and something long and thick rolls out of it through his hands, accompanied by a drool of dark liquid that drips onto Alfred's skin.

It's black and slick like a tongue as runs out over Alfred's face, and the boy shivers and sobs and chokes as it pushes past his lips and invades his mouth. He gags as the monster forces the appendage down into Alfred's throat, invasive and squirming and so so _cold_.

It's a mockery of a kiss and it suffocates Alfred, black goo pooling in his mouth and dribbling past his teeth as he struggles to breath through his nose. He feels the cold appendage throb in his throat as it penetrates deeper, just as he feels the tip of what could only be another extremity probing at his—he shuts his eyes tightly at the thought of the creature sticking inside his—

_No, no no no no no _he has to get away before the creature can defile him even more, before it does something worse-hurt him, rape him, _kill him—_

He does the only thing that he can think of doing and bites down, _hard_.

Something that sounds like a distorted scream over a crackled background of white noise, like a high pitched shriek pierces through Alfred's eardrums. The monster pulls back away from him and he gasps and chokes in pain as the thick tongue draws abruptly out of his throat. The grip on his ankle loosens and he gathers himself together enough to pull himself to his feet, untangling himself from his empty book bag. And before he can see if the monster has broken out of the shock of having its tongue bitten he is off running, ragged breath tearing in sobs from his lungs.

He recognizes some of the buildings around him through his blind terror and knows that he's close to his brother's apartment so he runs at a frenzied speed, hearing the rustling of the creature behind him _still _chasing after him.

The distant sight of Matthew's apartment building is a godsend, and Alfred pounds his feet on the cement as he races up the small flight of stairs to where the small door of his brother's apartment is. Alfred pounds desperately upon it, shrieking out his brother's name, too terrified to even _look_ behind him to see how close the monster is. He jiggles the door handle, rattling the door against his frame, crying his eyes out and begging to be let into safety.

Finally he hears that gratifying click and the door swings open to reveal his brother, crumpled and disheveled, obviously just roused from either sleep or intense studying.

"Al—?"

He falls sobbing and screaming into his brother, clutching at him and shouting to _close the door fuck Mattie close the fucking door_ and Matthew even through his shock knows something is wrong and quickly slams and locks the door behind his brother.

Alfred's quaking legs finally give out and he collapses to the floor, dragging his brother down with him. Matthew keeps a tight hold on him and he gently tries to lay them both down, both arms around his terrified brother, trying to pull him down from his hysteria. Alfred looks up at him, eyes bulging and tear-filled and Matthew's voice is caught because he's _never_ seen his brother so outright terrified.

"M-Matt, Matt, I—I—he—s-something, something's—" Alfred's voice is ragged between sobs and heavy breaths and hiccups, barely able to string a coherent sentence together. Matthew draws his hands from around his quaking brother, cupping his chin with one with the other gently touches his head.

"It's okay, Alfred, _Alfred_, it's okay. What's happening? Is somebody—"

But then there's that _tapping_ on the window and Alfred screams and hides his head in his brother's sweatshirt. When Matthew moves to get up to look at the window Alfred shrieks again and clings to him tighter, holding him down onto the floor.

"Al, what the hell-?"

"M-Mattie, don't, don't look-"

"Al," He winces at his brother's tight grip, patting at Alfred's side, "What is going on? S-should I call the police—?"

"No—"

Matthew seems to only noticed then and there the daub of red on Alfred's cheek. He touches his brother's face softly.

"A-Al, you're bleeding—"

Alfred bats away his brother's hand, cupping his own cheek and looking down away from Matthew's eyes. His other hand grips tighter at the sweatshirt around his brother's waist.

"It's not—it's not that—" but the stinging on his cheek only serves as a definite reminder of the way the creature had hurt him, the way it still can hurt him. His eyes begin to burn again, and he whines and buries his head back into his brother's chest. Matthew sighs, rubbing his brother's back, still worrying over what had possibly caused his twin to feel like_ this_. Matthew wanted to call the police, or at least _somebody_, but he had no justification as long as he couldn't coax an answer out of Alfred.

After Alfred seems to calm down into his brother's hold, Matthew pulled away, hands on Alfred's shoulders as he tried to pull him up off the floor.

"Hey," He says quietly when Alfred tightens his grip on him, "Al, lets move you to the couch, okay? I'll make you something to drink, and you can just try to calm down."

Alfred stares at him for moment, almost as if he's wary of what his brother is saying, but finally nods and allows himself to be helped to his feet and guided over to the couch, where he sits curled up, squeezing his brother's hand before Matthew leaves for the kitchen.

Alfred huddles on the couch, grateful for once that the tapping has seemed to stop. He wont't risk looking out the window, though. He never wants to see _its _face again, not as long as he lives.

Soon, Matthew comes back with a mug of instant hot chocolate swimming with marshmallows, sitting next to his twin on the couch and gently handing the trembling boy the cup. Alfred sips the liquid, feeling the warmth that slides down his throat and banishes the freezing feeling that had found its way there from the creature's—

Alfred shudders, holding the mug to his chest and bowing his head. He gulps, the fear slowing coming back. He feels something soft on his back as his brother began to gently stroke him.

After a few moments of sitting in the dimly lit living room, rubbing his brother's back and watching him slowly sip at the cocoa, Matthew finally swallows the lump in his throat and spoke up.

"Al," He spoke quietly, continuing the soothing motion of his hand to keep his twin calm, "I know that you're scared. It's okay to be scared. But-I need to know what happened to you. I-If someone hurt you, then we need to tell someone."

Alfred freezes, his eyes once again going bright and wide. He sets down the mug on his brother's coffee table, shaking his head.

"N-no."

"Alfred, you have to tell me."

"I-I don't want to talk about it—"

"But Al—"

"_No_!"

He throws his hands over his knees and pulls his legs to his chest, hiding his face, his sobs coming back again. He just wants to feel _safe_, he doesn't want to think about the thing that had caused his pain and his terror. He just wants to be with his brother and be comforted and pretend that everything is going to be okay.

Matthew seems to understand, or at least relents under his brother's abject fear. He moved his hand to Alfred head, stroking his hair even as he let out a loud yawn. Even through his tears, it registered to Alfred that it was rather late, and that they would be having to go to _sleep_ soon.

Normally, Alfred would sleep on the couch whenever he was at his brother's place, but after his ordeal he couldn't imagine being the slightest bit apart from his twin's comfort.

He pulls his head from his knees and stares up at his brother, face puffy read and pitifully stained with tears.

"P-Please, can't I just sleep with you?" His voice was very small, so much unlike his usual tone, "I just—I need to sleep."

Matthew ruffles his hand through his brother's hair, giving the shaken twin a small, sweet smile.

"Okay."

He helps Alfred to the small room attached to the living room, letting his twin sit on the bed as he rifles through his closet, as he had noticed that Alfred hadn't brought his bag

"Y'wanna borrow some pajamas, Al?"

His brother nods, and even gives him a little smile and a quiet thanks when Matthew passes him a overlarge T-shirt and a pair of blue pajama bottoms before looking back to search for his own clothing.

Alfred takes off his jeans, trying not to notice the black stains on his pants that were undoubtedly all over his boxers as well. He bites his lip, pulling on the pajama pants before Matthew could turn around and see. Dropping his old clothes to the floor, Alfred pulls up the comforter on Matthew's bed and crawls beneath it, pulling the blankets up to his chin and tightly shutting his eyes once Matthew clicks off the bedroom light.

The moment Matthew hits the bed Alfred moves over to his side, instantly wrapping his arms around his twin and pulling his head into Matthew's chest. The little muffled whine his normally boisterous brother sounds makes Matthew's heart sink into his stomach. He puts his hands on his brother's back, gently rubbing, trying to get Alfred to fall asleep and forget, for at least a few hours, whatever terrible incident he had been through.

"You're okay," He whispers, giving his brother a reassuring squeeze, "You're okay, Alfred. Don't be scared, everything is going to be okay."

Matthew _hates_ the awful tremors in Alfred's body, wanting to know _what_ exactly had hurt and terrified his brother so. But Alfred seems more fragile than usual, and Matthew is afraid that any pushing right now could break him.

He hears the window tapping again out in the living room, and makes a move to investigate, thinking his twin asleep, but Alfred instinctually tightens his grip and let out a whimper. Matthew relents, melting back into his brother's embrace and closing his own eyes as he continues to whisper.

_Everything's going to be fine._

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed it, despite the creepiness! :D<strong>


	2. Matthew

**These updates are going to be fast! I'm leaving for Italy in a few days, so I have to churn them out quickly. :) **

**Warnings for this chapter are far more severe: plenty of noncon, Slenderman/tentacle rape, graphic gore, and Slender Russia just generally being horrifying. **

**This is probably the worst chapter out of all of them. : Please, everyone give poor Alfred a hug after this one. **

**Ch 2: Matthew**

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><p><em>Tap, tap, tap<em>.

Alfred twitches, his eyes screwing up as he tries to remain sleeping, despite the every present noise that drifts from the living room into where he's curled up tightly around his brother.

_Tap, tap tap._

Alfred clings tighter to his brother, half tempted to wake Matthew up so he won't feel so _alone_, so vulnerable and so scared.

_Tap, tap, tap_.

Even though he closes his eyes tight he can still see the ghostly creature in his mind-standing right outside of the large window in Mattie's living room, silent and unmoving except for the one twisting appendage that knocks lightly against the glass, not demanding entrance, just keeping up the fearful staccato to terrify and torment Alfred further.

And it's working.

_Tap, tap tap_.

Alfred can see the creature's face-if one could really call it a face-in his mind's eyes now, smooth and white as an eggshell, completely featureless except for the tear of a mouth across it, the tip of the laving tongue peeking through the rips of teeth, gliding over the points as if fantasizing how Alfred's flesh and meat would feel across it—

Alfred sits straight up in the bed, his arms falling from around his twin. His eyes are still closed, still caught in the image of the beast, watching as its tapping appendage lifts from the window, raised up and—

_It beckons him_.

And Alfred follows.

He slides from the covers and his sleeping brother's lazy hold, eyes half lidded and dropping over eyes frosted and unfocused. His unsure feet eventually find the floor, and he lifts himself with a long _creak_ from the mattress. Outside, the monster resumes its noises.

_Tap, tap tap_.

Alfred shuffles out of Matthew's room in a daze, feet dragging on the carpet, moving like a zombie towards the living room—and the large window, currently drawn over with a beige curtain. He follows the tapping like a dog being called to dinner with a bell, his dazed and sleep laden eyes opening a bit more as he approaches to stand before the window.

_Tap, come here. Tap, open the lock. Tap, let me in. _

Alfred's hands come up and in one motion he opens the curtains and—_yes, there it is, the monster is there right outside, just as he had imagined it_.

Alfred stares at it.

The monster doesn't have eyes so it doesn't stare back, but Alfred sense that it _knows_ that he's there.

The appendage stops its tapping once again and simply begins to trace patterns into the glass, lazy circles and loops until it stops near Alfred's level, pressed up against the glass. The monster stills.

Alfred's brain is fuzzy, filled with white noise, and through the haze he can hear something high and clear speak out to him-a voice, both high-pitched and growling and still—_familiar_?

_Al-fr-ed_

Alfred should be terrified, should be running back to hide under the sheets with his brother. But all survival instinct seemed to have dulled to the background as he lifts his hand.

_T-ou-c-h-me-A-lfr-ed _

He puts his hand on the window, on the other side of the beast's black appendage, feeling the intense and deathly cold radiated from the monster even through the glass. He spreads his fingers, the white noises inside his head crackling wildly.

The beast seems to bob closer to the window, until it's smooth face looks to be almost touching the glass, the bangs of its hair fluttering against it.

_Alf-r-ed-pl-eas-e-le-tme-in_

Once he hears the voice Alfred can't think, his last bit of self control snapped. His hands settle on the window latch, tensed at the touch of the cool metal. He keeps his eyes locked on the creature's face. It's mouth had closed back up, leaving it again completely smooth, devoid of an human qualities.

His hands seize the latch of the door and he wrenches it open with a loud _woosh_ of air, the cold from the outside and from the beast hitting him all at once, sending the slack curtain's fluttering wildly.

The specter instantly pours into the room, all fluid shadows and silver light hair, frigid aura engulfing Alfred even as the boy takes a step back from the window to accommodate the beast and the mass of tentacled appendages that rise from the black of its body.

The reality of what he has just done hits Alfred as the fuzzy, hypnotized feeling in his head is swept away in the sudden breeze of wind. He chokes, bringing up his hands as he stares at the beast, jerking away as he feels the graze of the tentacles along his ankles. He screams in terror, lashing out at the creature and trying to take a step away as the monster seizes his ankles in a cold vice grip.

But his struggles are for naught as his legs are wrenched out from under him and he slides to the floor with a _thump_, landing hard on his tailbone. The pain shoots through his body and he tries to cry out, the beginning of tears swelling in his eyes as he screams for his brother, for _somebody_ to come help save him.

"M-Mattie!" Alfred screams, kicking out at the monster and trying to loosen the grips on his ankles and the appendages swarming around his struggling arms, "Mattie! Mattie, _help_!"

He arches his body, writhing like a water starved fish on the carpet as he tries to get away from the monster now looming over him, his arms and legs held securely within its grasp. His instincts kick in even harder as he feels something slick curl around the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

"F-Fuck—_no! _No, get the fuck away!" He manages to lash out and land a kick square on the monster's face, a brief moment of hope taking hold of him as the creature's grip on his limbs starts to slacken.

But this feeling is short lived as the face tears open under Alfred's foot and suddenly it is engulfed into the black mouth up to the ankle.

Alfred screeches as the terrible cold of the monster's maw envelopes him—he can _feel_ the horrid black tongue squirming and writhing underneath the pads of his foot, can feel the black liquid spill and squelch between his toes as he flexes them in a desperate attempt to be free of the creatures mouth. Eventually the tongue throbs and pushes against his heel, wrapping around the ankle and pulling out the foot, holding it aloft.

With no way left to fight back Alfred can only sag back into the moonlit carpet and sob as the monster tears from him his pajama bottoms and boxers, all the while twitching as the limbs not holding him in place begin to explore his body, touching him in all the mockery of a lover, the feeling too gentle to be that of a monster, and yet still horrible all the same.

Soon he's fully naked below the waist, fully on display to the monster, his legs spread and held open by the ghostly appendages so much so that the sockets in his hips felt fit to pop out. The drool from the monster's mouth drips over its pale chin and splatters onto Alfred's bare hips and belly, freezing cold and only adding to the terrible disgusting and _wrong_ feeling coursing through the young man's body.

Alfred groans in pain as his ankles are held up further apart, his eyes squinted tight in terror over what would inevitably come next. He didn't understand—didn't know _why_ the creature had to do this to him, instead of just _killing_ him and ending his suffering.

The monster's tongue uncurls from around Alfred's ankle and is replaced with another, and although Alfred doesn't see the switch he certainly _feels_ it a second later, when something pointed and slivering stick into him right _there_ and without preamble pushing itself in.

The screams come again as the creature's tongue spears him, Alfred desperately trying to clench his muscles against the intrusion and push it _out_, but that is all for naught. The tongue squirms in, undaunted and uncaring of Alfred's pain, the slick black saliva doing nothing to help ease the large tentacle in and help the intense tearing pain.

Alfred had shut his eyes, gritting his teeth tightly in an attempt to stop screaming, to at least _try to_ put on a face of bravery even given the horror of the beast violating him.

Suddenly, something hold and wet touches his cheek, causing him to jerk his head back and his eyes open. The tentacle gently turns his face until Alfred is looking upwards, right into the face of the beast that is hovering over him—the beast that is _raping_ him.

And yet, when he looks into the "face" with its torn grin and lolling violating tongue Alfred cannot help the feelings that overwhelm him—_sadness, regret, guilt_.

The white noise in his head sparks and cracks as the voice comes through.

_Pl-ea-s-e A-lf-red_

"I-I can't," Alfred chokes out, with no idea why he feels he has to speak to the mindless beast, despite the crackling voice that he can hear inside his head.

"I-I can't, please, please stop—" He doesn't understand why he is begging with the monster, the _thing_ that is completely devoid of any shred of human empathy or pity.

"_Please!"_

The thickness of the appendage is almost unbearable as it burrows deep inside him, _too deep_, beyond the point where anything should go, tearing him up from the inside, the cold of the slick penetration burning against his sensitive innards. His muscles have been abused ragged, his body exhausted from struggling and his throat aching from the labored breaths. And still the monster doesn't stop—still, the monster goes _deeper_.

_Alf-re-d-I-wa-nt_

Even as Alfred cant imagine the horror deepening suddenly something _tears_ inside his body and he screams, screams as the appendage bursts from his digestive tract and out somewhere into the space of his body cavity.

Alfred thrashes around, feeling the spill of his bodily fluids leak out internally as the appendage still continues to move, teasing and giving him no release from the pain.

It crawls up his body, maneuvering through the swamp of his organs and arching like a sea monster through an ocean of flesh. The moving bumps that Alfred can see pressed up through his skin make him absolutely sick to his stomach. He chokes and spits, a froth of bloody vomit dribbling from his lips.

The appendage coils around his chest, a thick ball of ghostly sinew pressing on his adjacent lungs, compressing them and making Alfred take in quick, difficult breaths. Soon, he feels as it curls around his frantically slamming heart, freezing and chilling the very blood coursing through his arteries.

As he's dying, bleeding on the inside from his torn up intestine, his breath coming shorter, body growing numb until he can't even feel the sensation of the monster stretching and penetrated him-the only thing left to feel is the secure and strangely _stilled_ hold on Alfred's chest. As if the monster was content—at the moment—to simply cradle the organ.

Alfred's sight is growing dimmer, the image of the monster before him beginning to swim as he bleeds out internally. The appendages holding onto his arms and legs disappear and his limbs land with a staggered _thump_ to the carpet, though their release doesn't register with Alfred.

_I'm going to die_, Alfred thinks dully, tears collecting again in the corner of his eyes.

But then, there is something light and feathery that touches him, settling on his body. Alfred's eyes flutter, and he manages to lift his head a little to look at where he had felt the touch.

He squints his eyes to see a soft hand on his chest, above the lump pressing through his ribcage where the monster has a hold of his heart.

_Since when did the monster have a hand?_

Alfred can barely look down the swell of his cheeks to see that the hand on his bare chest is large, heavily knuckled and ghost white, like the creature's face. Though, the beast's face is akin more to a piece of fabric or sun bleached animal hide stretched smooth and fit to bursting—and the hand, the _hand_ has the nuances of vein and bone in it, and is pale in a different way—whitened like those people who has spent too much time in the cold. Or like those of a dead body.

And suddenly the monster has eyes. Alfred blinks and the next moment there is a massive tear through the white stretch of the creatures face and behind the ragged strips of the torn away mask—_was it really a mask?—_are a pair of eyes streaming with tears.

Heathered blue eyes. Almost—

_Purple_.

Alfred chokes for a moment on the realization before his heart is grasped tight and ripped away from its arteries and before Alfred can process it in any other way other than screaming the organ is torn downwards and out through his body.

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><p>Matthew wakes.<p>

But he doesn't wake in the pleasant, gradual way, in which one tosses and turns for a few moments before blinking their eyes open and coming back into consciousness.

No, Matthew wakes with a start, with a _jolt_, sleepy shock forcing him awake at the sound of a heartrending scream.

_Alfred's scream_.

The moment Matthew blinks the sleep from his eyes he can see the pitiful form of his brother, body thrown akimbo amidst the scattered sheets, thrashing and screaming his lungs out as he lashes at invisible enemies that surround him on all sides. Alarmed at the sight, Matthew lunges over, not even bothering to put on his glasses as he grabs for his brother's flailing arms before he slams into something and hurts himself.

As soon as Matthew grabs his wrists Alfred lets out a massive, full body shudder, his eyes snapping open and wide, mouth gaping and dribbling with froth. In the next second Matthew found himself flat on his back, a mound of sobbing, shaking twin on top of him, half crying half shouting into his brother's shoulder.

"Mattie Mattie help me help me please please please please—" Alfred babbles into his brother, clawing at the sheets and at his twin and at himself in his blind terror, "Mattie _help me—_"

"_Alfred!" _Matthew shouts, seizing his brother by the shoulders and shaking him, trying to jolt him out of the post-nightmare hysteria, "Alfred, stop it!"

When shouting at terrified twin doesn't help Matthew tries to lever himself up to his knees while continuously trying to speak to his gibbering brother, hands stroking over his back and rubbing circles into his shoulders.

"M-Mattie," Alfred gasps once more, pitifully, "Mattie, please help me…"

"Okay, okay Al, let me—let me help you."

Matthew licks his lips, a nervous tic, and slowly, almost compulsively began to rock his brother, growing desperate in his attempts to calm the terror-stricken twin down.

Words that sounds vaguely like some garbled lullaby come to his lips, and it helps to soothe Alfred a little bit, who relaxes into his twin's hold, fingers still tightly holding onto his brother's shirt.

_It was a nightmare, it couldn't have been anything more than that._

But Matthew had seen his brother have nightmare's before. And _never_ had they resulted in anything like this.

Alfred had been _screaming_. Screaming and shaking and _crying_. And those cries hadn't been just tiny little sobs or watered eyes—Alfred had been wailing in utmost terror, his face raw and red and wet and clenched in abject and real fear.

Still, Matthew tries to reassure Alfred.

"You're okay, Al. All right? It was just a bad dream.."

A terrible, horrible dream. But a _dream _nonetheless.

But what if it wasn't? Al had still not told him what had happened last night. What if it had been something terrible? Something that had imprinted images so horrible upon him that it haunted his poor brother's sleeping hours?

Matthew needed to know. He needed to know _now_ what his brother had suffered through.

So with a heavy heart and careful hands Matthew pushed Alfred into more of a sitting position until Alfred wasn't leaning on him—but he was still close.

Matthew stared at Alfred with confidence he didn't have, meeting his brother's watery eyes.

"Al—I need you to tell me what happened."

Alfred looked back, his face fallen and helpless, shaking his head.

"No, no no no no no no no—"

"Alfred, we _need_ to get you some help. Right now. I'm going to go call the police."

"The police can't help. Please. You gotta understand that Mattie."

After a few more moments of banter, Matthew gives up, as Alfred is as tight-lipped as he was before. Eventually, despite Alfred's resistance his brother convinces him to at least lie down and try to go to sleep. After being promised that Matthew would not fall asleep until he did, Alfred finally seems to relax more, and eventually closes his eyes and begins his reassuring snores.

But despite his own drooping eyes, Matthew find that he cannot sleep. And he finds it strange that he can't because for the first time that night he notices that the incessant tapping seems to have stopped.

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><p><strong>This chapter makes me feel bad...<strong>


	3. Ivan

**Hey guys! Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed (and been terrified by) this story thus far. :) I appreciate it, I really do. **

**Anyways, this chapter includes a bit of origin for out beloved Slenderman. :D No warnings here except for some suicidal themes and past character death. **

**Ch 3: Ivan**

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><p>Alfred didn't go to class the next day. As far as he is concerned, he issn't ever going to go to class again. Hell, he probably isn't going to ever leave his brother's apartment. Even though he doesn't remember the full details of the horrifying dreams, he recalls still enough to make him tremble and shake and grab for his woefully absent brother once he opens his eyes to the dim morning rays.<p>

Matthew had left in the morning, though still wary and worried over his twin's condition, and was gone by the time Alfred awoke. Despite his trembling, the first thing that he had done was to walk to the living room and, with unsteady fingers, open the curtains to look out the window. But he had found nothing.

Alfred jumps and little as his phone—which had miraculously survived the mad dash to his brother's apartment the night before, rings from where it had been thrown onto the floor near the door.

Alfred picks it up, half expecting the other line to crackle and spit and hiss like the voice in his dream-but instead it's his brother, who sounds flustered and worried and wondering if Alfred is all right, and if he needs someone to come back and be with him. Alfred waves him off and tells him he's fine with a chuckle that's not _entirely_ forced, but is not completely natural. He hangs up on his brother with a cheerful goodbye before deflating and sinking back into thought.

Alfred would have been willing to dismiss it all as a dream or a feverish hallucination due to his lack of sleep, except he found his stained jeans crumpled on the floor of Matthew's living room. And when he took off his boxers to investigate—sure enough, the crotch there had been splotched and blackened as well.

Only once in the sunlight of the day, and without the terror of the ghost looming with only a thin strip of wall between it and him can Alfred fully process the events that had happened last night. And the more he thought about it-the more something _bothered _him.

It is the eerie familiarity of the monster that seems to pester and prod at him. The beast had that split second of shock that its appearance had instilled in Alfred to hurt him—and yet, while the creature's actions were awful and defiling—it had not sought to kill him in that instant.

And that gets Alfred thinking. Wracking his brain for an answer as to what the creature _was_, where it came from and, most of all-what it wanted from him.

The internet, is, obviously, no help. All Alfred comes across were a handful of poorly edited screenshots and eyewitness accounts of a "monster" that sounded half assed at best. Though some of them send chills up his spine, as it almost _looked_ like his monster, only without the hair.

Besides, it looks like the thing in the pictures and videos had been created out of thin air by someone with a computer, editing software and too much time on their hand. But Alfred's monster, as far as he could tell, is one hundred percent real.

Eventually, Alfred turns off his brother's laptop and sits, legs drawn to his chest and arms folded over. Despite the shudders and tightened chest that he experiences every single time he thought of the monster and its terrible appearance, Alfred can not stop himself from playing the image of the creature over and over again in his head.

And suddenly Alfred has a thought-another image flashes through his memory, something else that had been long repressed and hidden away. His breath catches, coming back a moment later in a tight sob.

He shakes his head and clung tighter to his knees, trying to convince himself it was _impossible—_but the realization won't leave him alone. That hair is unmistakable. And the eyes. He had seen them in what had clearly been a dream, but-those eyes had resonated with him. He _knows_ who they had belonged to.

Yet Alfred feels the need to confirm. He uncurls himself warily, as if his bones were made of glass, and shakily stands to his feet. He goes through the small bookcase under his brother's desk, knowing that his twin had brought along his high school yearbooks for sentimental and nostalgic value.

He pulls out the 2010 yearbook, the year of his graduation, and opens it up, the smell of newly printed paper and ink still lingering there.

He flips through the pages, going through brightly colored pictures of students and sports and clubs and theater shows, searching from the memory of one page, one page that had stood out due to the tragedy that had befallen the senior class of that year.

Alfred is nearing the end of of the book when suddenly his eyes catch sight of it. He stops flipping the pages and opens the books further on his lap.

_It's a memorial page_.

And staring up from the center of the page was a picture-a school photo, to be precise, with the cheesy stereotypical background of a New England autumn.

Alfred's breath comes harder as he looks at the photo. The face is different-the strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, and large nose was nothing like the monster's smooth, eggshell white face-but the hair, wavy and silver-beige, and the eyes, strikingly purple-blue, are undeniably similar.

Alfred looks away from a moment, his eyes beginning to burn and his shoulders shaking. It is too much, too impossible and all too much to take in.

After a moment of composure, Alfred takes a deep breath, and looks back the memorial page. To the photos stoic, steely gaze.

A name is underneath the photograph, and a date.

_Ivan Braginski - 1992-2010. _

His hands shake as he traces the small epitaph below the picture, mouthing out the words with a dry mouth.

If there was one person in Alfred's life who symbolized every single one of his regrets—it would be Ivan.

Ivan hadn't been a bad kid, not at all. He had been nice, a bit socially awkward, perhaps a little creepy, and somewhat unstable with regards to his emotions. But that could easily be attested to the tumultuous years of being a teenager in general, though the experience had always seemed to be tougher on the tall, quiet boy with an unfortunately intimidating build.

In high school, Alfred had cheery and popular, but not so much so that it all went to his head. No, Alfred had room for the metaphorical little guys, for the dregs of the high school hierarchy. So, after a few random chance encounters and mutual friends, Alfred had befriended Ivan. And although they were never close, they did enjoy each other's company. Alfred had let Ivan tag along to parties that he would normally not be invited to, and Ivan had always sat Alfred down and helped him with homework or school projects. They were civil acquaintances, and nothing more or less.

_But—_there had always been a few moments with Ivan that had set up red flags in Alfred's mind. He seemed to have an incredible infatuation with Alfred that danced the line between considerate and _creepy_. Alfred had liked Ivan well enough, sure. But sometimes Ivan's "like" trended towards the obsessive.

Notes left in Alfred's locker or in his backpack that spoke of Ivan wanting more than just a friendship. Strange gifts of flowers and candy left untagged and unmarked, sometimes in paper bags, on his doorstop. The tendency of Ivan to just _appear _behind Alfred at, to, or from school like some kind of ghost. Sometimes Alfred had wondered if any the shadows moving were from Ivan, or from the flutter of his scarf, though the idea was silly and stupid.

Still, Alfred had decided one day to set Ivan straight.

He had turned to Ivan one day after school, after the taller boy had intimidated and scared off all the friends that would typically walk home with him. And after Ivan had seized and kept a tight hold on his hand the entire time.

_Listen, Ivan_, he had said, heart falling as the bigger teenager looked down at him, _I need to tell you 'bout something_.

Ivan's small smile had grown a bit, and he had squeezed his hand a little tighter.

_Anything, little Alfred._

Alfred had stopped in his tracks, Ivan halting in his steps a few moments after. Alfred took a deep breath, biting his lip for a moment before looking up into those unnerving _but still kind_ bluish eyes.

_Look, Ivan,_

He sighed.

_I know you want this to turn into something but I—I just don't like you that way, dude. I'm mean, I'm just not really into guys. That's all. _

There was silence immediately following, and Alfred wondered if perhaps had understood the implications of what Alfred had said. He had tried to tug his hand away, but it was locked in Ivan's cement grip-which had started to become painful.

_Ivan, come on, let go of me—_

But Ivan had not. Instead, Ivan had seized Alfred by the face and brought his lips to his and had begun to thoroughly tongue and suck on the boy's mouth. Alfred had outright _gagged_ and shoved Ivan away as the taller boy thoroughly molested him with his mouth. When he hadn't been able to get the older boy off, he had stepped down hard on Ivan's foot so that he pulled away with a gasp and a cringe.

_Fuck off, Ivan! _He had yelled as the boy looked at him in confusion.

_Alfred—_

_Drop dead! Drop fucking dead, you stupid asshole!_

And with that Alfred had ran, not stopping to look over his shoulder until he got home. He scrubbed his teeth and washed his mouth out with Listerine as soon as he got to the bathroom, thoughts only on how _creepy_ and _disgusting_ Ivan had been.

Alfred had found out later that evening, when Matthew had come into his room while Alfred was listening to music, white as a ghost and insistently grabbing on arm and taking him to the living room, where the local news was on full blast.

Alfred had looked from the television to his Matthew, clearly confused by what his brother was trying to tell him.

Matthew had taken a deep breath, pointing back to the television.

"Al, read it," Alfred had scanned the headline and listened to the reporters speak.

_Local boy found dead._

It still didn't quite click with Alfred. His brother shook him.

"Al, I'm sorry, it's—it's Ivan."

The name had hit Alfred with all the force of a train. His legs had felt weak, and he had to take a few steps back and sag against the couch, watching in horror.

_Ivan had hung himself in his room. With his scarf. _

Alfred had watched, shaking, as the story was reported—watched with a sickening feeling in his stomach as he saw camera footage of coroner's wheeling a covered gurney out of Ivan's home. Despite having earlier told the boy to _fuck off_ and thought of how disgusting Ivan had been to advance on him like that—Alfred felt his eyes swell with tears. Matthew had tried to comfort his brother, but all Alfred could believe at the moment was that Ivan's suicide had been all his fault. Ivan had obviously been fragile, and Alfred could not help thinking that his rejection had finally broken him.

Alfred had a hard time sleeping that night.

For his own mental sake, Alfred had eventually managed to _at least partially_ convince himself that Ivan's death had not been his fault. Everyone, even Ivan's family, knew that he had had emotional problems for several years before he had even met Alfred. It was even suspected that some childhood illness had had a profound and tragic impact on his mental state.

But, to Alfred, there was still no question that his rejection had been the catalyst to Ivan's reaction, as crazy as it was.

And that still haunted Alfred to this very day, as he sat in his brother's apartment with an open yearbook on his lap and a picture of _Ivan_ starting accusingly up at him.

_Haunting, Ivan was still haunting him_.

Alfred suddenly feels ill. Very ill. He claps a hand over his mouth, just barely stopping himself from retching all over Ivan's face.

_It had to be. It had to be._ Alfred didn't know how it had happened, but—

Now there is no doubt in Alfred's mind that the creature haunting him was Ivan. It made sense. It made horrible, gutwrenching sense.

As sick as it is, the fact that the monster had touched him _there_, had essentially kissed him—they were all products of emotions that, at one point or another, Ivan had had towards Alfred. And even though they were distorted and grotesque now, they still were Ivan's feelings. The monster, one way or another, was acting through Ivan. That, or the monster _was_ Ivan.

The sick builds up in Alfred's stomach again and he throws the yearbook from his lap, stumbling to his feet and racing to the bathroom where he vomits the pale contents of his stomach into the bowl. The nausea leaves as quickly as it comes though, and Alfred is left wondering whether it was something he had eaten, or if it was a side effect from all the stress. Either way, he ends up feeling weak, and simply crawls onto the couch and spends the rest of the afternoon in a doze.

That evening Matthew comes home, and although Alfred jumps slightly when his brother opens the door-because, God knows, the monster could be right behind him—there is no sight of the beast as his brother trundles tiredly into his apartment. He makes Alfred soup and the two sit on the couch and watch television for a couple of hours.

Matthew seems like a ward against the monster's presence. Though he had once heard the tapping, Matthew seemed to never attacked or in any way affected or shaken by the monster. His only concern was Alfred, for the welfare and wellbeing of his brother. And Alfred thought it fine that way. He never wanted the thing to go after his brother. The creature—and Ivan—were his troubles to bear. His life to sacrifice, if need be. There's no reason for Matthew to be kept up at night by thoughts of Ivan and the monster.

Soon enough, Matthew decides to retire to his room, but only after a few minutes of assurance by Alfred that _he'll be fine, he's just going to stay up a little longer and then he'll come to bed—_

The tapping starts not long after Matthew goes to his room Alfred shivers at the sound, but instead of blatant fear, this time—there is a bit of pity. A bit of _guilt. _

He gets up, in a mirror image of the parts of last night's nightmare that he can remember, and walks over to the window. After a moment of hesitation, he pulls open the curtains.

He starts at the monster floating outside the glass, swallows, tries to steel himself despite the fact that his knees have started to quake.

Its flat face remains perfectly still even as the swarm of appendages curl from the shadows and block out the moonlight behind it. The slants of light flit across Alfred's face—everything else is dark.

He flinches again as two hands emerge from the black likes ghosts to press against the window and-they look so real, _too real_. Too much like the hand that had clenched Alfred's on that day a year or so ago-but still gnarled, twisted and paled in death.

_Ho-l-dm-e-ple-as-e_

Alfred jerks away from the window, heart pounding because-_because that was definitely Ivan's voice he had just heard in his head, albeit distorted as if through a poor digital recorder—_

Alfred pulls the curtains shut, his chest heaving. Moments later the tapping begins anew. Alfred covers his ears, breath tight and coming in near sobs.

His legs are jelly as he stumbles away from the window and into his brother's room, where he collapses on the bed. As he settles, he feels a gentle hand touch his hair.

"You okay?"

Alfred turns his head, looking into the concerned but sleepy eyes on his twin. Mattie's eyes, which had always been a little darker and deeper than his blue ones-

"Yeah," Alfred gulps, giving a wavering smile, "I'm fine."

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><p><strong>Next chapter is the last!<strong>


	4. Matthew, Alfred, and Ivan

**Okay! Last official chapter guys. :) Sorry for the rapid updates, but I'm leaving out of town and I have to get them up quick! And they are currently un beta'd, so, yeah. I hope any spelling mistakes don't detract too much from the writing. **

**Alfred's sickness is based on a part of the Slenderman mythos: according to some the creature can induce illness in its victims/prey which result in intense nausea and other symptoms. **

**Warnings for this chapter include: almost noncon, almost tentacle rape, violence, some blood, and...that's it, I think. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Alfred wakes up the next morning feeling ill.<p>

Sickness completely overtakes Alfred by the third night, of staying inside his brother's apartment but nothing can be done because Matthew is at class and there's nothing that Alfred can do but sit curled up on the bathroom floor around the toilet, vomiting out him stomach until nothing's left and all he can do it cry and dry heave into the water. He's so sick that his thoughts, recently all concerned with Ivan and the creature that he could have become, are totally blank and focused on the pain and _oh God make it stop. _

After what feels like hours of sobbing and shaking Alfred finally seems to regain his strength enough to stumble to the kitchen and—through a mess of tears and nausea—call his brother on the phone.

His voice is weak and trembling as he begs his brother to come home and just be with him—because by this point, he's light headed and ready to collapse on the floor and pass out.

Alfred feels, honest to God, like he's going to die—except perhaps death at the hands of some mysterious ailment wouldn't be as bad as dying disemboweled and violated on the floor of apartment.

Matthew sounds panicked, of course, due to the way his twin is begging and pleading him in a voice too soft and unstable to be healthy, and quickly assures Alfred that he'll be home as soon as he can to, if need be, take him to the hospital. Until then, he tells Alfred to lie down in the bathroom and just wait for him to get there.

Alfred does so, his body still racked with sobs and intense waves of nausea as he collapses to his knees onto the floor of the bathroom, the cool tile a welcomed bliss to his aching and throbbing body. But it doesn't stop the pain or the sickness, and most of the time Alfred is writhing and squirming and gasping in pain on the floor—but, thankfully, not vomiting.

It doesn't last long. Soon Alfred feels a jolt of sharp pain in his belly and he groans as something burns in his throat. He tries to pull himself to his feet, dry heaving once or twice before he shakily holds himself over the toilet bowl. The moment Alfred is over the rim everything comes up, and Alfred had to keep his eyes shut for a few minutes as violent retches rock his body.

When Alfred finally does manage to open his eyes he almost screams in horror-because amidst the frothy milk-like vomit is trickle of bright red blood. He puts his hand to his lips and chin and draws away to find more crimson coating his fingers and running down his palm.

He tries to get up but his feet slip from underneath him, and he collapses, his shoulder hitting the floor. He is suddenly unbearably hot and fevered, so he opens his pants, shoving them and his underwear down to get some naked relief against the cold floor. Alfred didn't know how long he lay curled up like that—it might've been hours, because a dimmer light is showing in what part of Matthew's apartment Alfred can see from the

Eventually, the nausea seems to ebb away, and Alfred is left in a half doze on the floor, cool tile easing the aches and pains in his back and belly. Alfred sighs, and is about to maybe slip into a nice sleep, when—

_Blurp_.

Alfred's eyes snap open at the sound. The sound that had _definitely_ been close by. Very close by. And what had it been exactly? It had sounded almost like—a gurgle.

Alfred forces himself up on one elbow to look around, to see if perhaps anyone—or _anything—_had come into the bathroom. But there is no one. There is no Matthew, there is no Ivan, there is no tapping or anything. But there is the mysterious gurgle, which sounds again.

And then Alfred looks into the toilet. Immediately, he feels like vomiting again.

Before his eyes the water in the toilet is turning a sickly gray color, swirling with a darker, marbled color, like a few drops of dye had just been put into it. Alfred stares in utter disbelief as the water slowly begins to turn a dull, featureless black. No reflection—no _nothing_.

And from within the depths of the toilet bowl something _moves_.

Alfred shrieks and loses his tentative balance when something ripples and breaks the surface of the toilet water.

He falls hard on his tailbone, pants shamefully opened and privates still revealed but Alfred could care less about modesty because there is the barest of splashes as something breaks this surface of the toilet water and slaps over the rim like a giant, black slug.

_Oh God, Oh God Oh God Oh my God, no no no no no_, Alfred's mind sobs and races and spins as he tries to convince himself that no, this was just some fevered hallucination, there was no way the monster could get to him, he was _safe_ inside Mattie's house—

But the appendages continues to curl over the rim of the bowl and soon lands on the floor with a wet _splat_. Alfred shrieks in horror as he scrambles away, flipping onto his still aching belly as he tries to crawl away, towards the had open door.

But before he can reach it something curls around his ankle, pulling him back towards the toilet. Alfred turns around, unsurprised but still absolute terrified to see the soaked tentacles firmly grasped around his leg.

"M-mattie! Mattie!" He calls out in a desperate plea, even though he knows his brother isn't home.

The appendage releases him for a moment and Alfred tries to pull himself to his feet but before he can it curls around his waist and brings Alfred to his knees again. Tears spring up in his eyes at the touch, his forehead pressed against the tile, giving him a horrific sight of the wrapped tentacle beginning to caress the parts of his bare body, trailing down from his trembling belly down to his—

Alfred shrieks as it begins to touch and stroke at his privates, a cold and slimy mixture of black saliva and toilet water dripping over his hips and splattering onto the floor. Alfred sobs and kicks out helplessly, feet slipping against the liquid over the tiles.

As horrifying as the stroking is, Alfred is only fearfully galvanized into action when the appendage travels lower and begins to probe at his tightly clenched hole.

_No—_Alfred is determined that this will not end up like his dream, even when he knows that-that the creature is _Ivan—_

He jerks his hips and, with the momentum, rolls over onto his back. From there he levers himself up on his elbows and-despite the tightened grip on his waist and the piercing feeling of the appendage trying to force its way inside, Alfred begins to shakily waddle towards the toilet.

The monster's grip tightens and eventually Alfred is forced to his knees again, but this time he is bending over the toilet, his chin nearly resting on the rim. And there in the reflection of the water, staring back at him is the distorted face of the monster. Of Ivan, although there is not hint of purple eyes, only the same old blank face and silver hair.

Alfred stares at it for a moment longer, his hands perched tentatively above the lid, before he grabs onto it and slams the plastic covering down hard on the tentacle, severing it.

The appendage around his waist bursts as it's cut off from the main body, disintegrating into black ash and then into nothingness.

Alfred lets out a sob of relief and crashes to the floor, all the weight of his torso on the toilet lid, terrified that the monster with come back if he releases any pressure.

His thighs are trembling. His jeans and underwear are wet with toilet water and the black goo, which is also slicked all over his hips, waist, and privates. His heart sinks at the feeling of having been thoroughly violated once more.

The evidence of his fear rises up and his lip trembles, tears welling up again. He tries to wipe them away, letting out a series of low cries and sniffles. After a moment of calming, he cleans himself off with bits of toilet paper, balling them up tight and throwing them away so Mattie won't see.

Not long after his brother comes home, breathless and worried sick as he scoops up his twin from the bathroom floor and, with much effort, carries the half delirious Alfred to the couch. He pats the sick and feverish brother on the forehead and holds his hand for a moment of reassuring words before he gets up again to retrieve some towels and some other things from the bathroom. While he is gone, Alfred tries to relax, despite the memory of the awful feeling all over him and the thoughts of _who_ exactly was doing this again.

"Alfred," Matthew comes back with a freshly dampened bath towel and wraps it around his twin's shoulders, "You're okay. It's all okay. Do you think it was something you ate? The bathroom smelled pretty bad, y'know, I had to air it out."

"T-Thanks, Mattie," Alfred manages in a raspy voice, sighing as his twin begins to gently stroke his arm. He is about to doze off again when suddenly something that his brother had said registers in his brain.

"Mattie," Alfred says, voice suddenly more urgent.

"Yeah? What Alfred?"

"Mattie," Alfred swallows, dry fear beginning to take its hold, "Y-you said that you had to air out the bathroom?

"Yeah?"

"D-Did you leave the window open?"

_If the thing could get in through the plumbing now—_

"Yeah, Al, I did. It's not going to air out if you don't leave it open."

Alfred tries to get up off the couch, throwing the blankets from his body as he struggling to his feet, legs shaking through exertion as he wheeled about dizzily, trying to find the opening to the bathroom and _hoping that it's not—that nothing's there—_

"Alfred, sit down, what is—"

Anything else that his twin's says is drowned out by the now familiar white noises that infests Alfred's brain as he stares at the darkened entrance to the bathroom. At first there is nothing, but then—_but then_ Alfred sees the beginning gray of that white face and silver hair, watches as the small tendrils of black begin to creep out from beyond the doorframe.

_He's there_. Alfred freezes, trying to get the muscles in his throat to work as he stares.

"Mattie," He grabs his twin's hand, tugging him sharply along, "Mattie! We have to go!"

Before Matthew can either protest or resist Alfred is pulling him, nearly tripping his twin as he forces him to the door, which Alfred quickly opens.

The shocked boy bumbles along on stumbling feet, shocked at his twin's sudden resurgence of strength—and insanity.

They two twins make it to the top of the stairs and Alfred thinks that perhaps if they could make it to another building or another room, perhaps they'll be safe—

But then something wraps around Alfred's ankle and tugs back, half-halting his steps. Both of them let out a cry of surprised as they lose their footing and are sent sent crashing down the steps, the sharp edge of the concrete slamming into Alfred's ribs and neck and making him gasp weakly for air once they finally fall in a twined heap at the bottom.

After a moment of coughing, trying to regain his bearings, Alfred steadies himself up, eyes still swimming even as they focus on the still form of his brother.

"M-M-Mattie?" He turns his twin over, his voice strained in fear.

Matthew's eyes are closed, gravel encrusted gash across his forehead. He doesn't move, even when Alfred turns him over onto his back. He slaps Matthew a little on the cheek before Alfred desperately starts to shake his brother, trying to get him to wake up.

Behind the frantic brother the beast looms down the stairs by the apartment, mass of black appendages whipping at the railing, sacking the nearby building in anticipatory lashes. Alfred looks over his shoulder, fear clutching at him, making him turn and try to frantically pick up his brother. But Alfred is too dizzied by the fall and too weakened by his sickness to pull all of his brother's weight up, and he collapses pathetically onto the ground, bare toes scraping uselessly on the pavement.

Suddenly, something wraps about Alfred's ankle and tugs him away. Alfred lets out a whine of despair and tries to clutch at his limp brother, but his fingers are torn away from the fabric of Matthew's jacket as he's hefted a few inches off the ground by the beast, dangling upside down.

Alfred groans as the blood in his body shoots downwards and amplified the pain in his head. His nausea is coming back, and a bit of bloody vomit trickles down his face into his hairline.

Mercifully—_or not, Alfred was sure the thing had other terrible plans for him—_he felt a thick appendage wrap around his waist and right him. Alfred gasped and coughed at the suddenly change of alignment, choking moments later when the tentacle around his waist tightened considerably.

"F-fuck, _stop—_"

The beast—_Ivan—_finally descends the stair, and despite its great height, it has to look up at where Alfred is suspended in the mass of tentacles, struggling wildly and trying to break free.

_Alfr-edal-fred-plea-s-e-sto-p_

The young man whines as the voice pierces his brain with its crackling, distorted sound. He writhes and twists in Ivan's grasp, trying to break free, or perhaps wiggle out a hand to help unwind the binds-like how one gets out of a boa constrictor's grasp, he had seen enough nature television shows—

_A-lf-r-ed-Ion-ly-wan-t-to hol-d-_

"Fuck off!" Alfred snarls at the creature, kicking out his legs. Immediately a flicker of something, a ripple in the beast's white mask, catches Alfred's eye, and he only just realizes the mistake of his words when he's moving quickly through the air, whistling towards the side of the building.

With the full force of the mass of appendages Alfred's head slams into the wall and he feels and hears something definitely _crack_, like the noise an eggshell makes when it's broken against the rim of a cup.

Alfred feels warmth coursing down the side of his face and his vision swims and blurs. Unrelenting, the creature slams Alfred's head twice more into the side of the building until he can't feel anything but the stinging pain in his rattled skull. He wants to crumple, to collapse to the floor and just let unconsciousness or _death_ take him, but instead the appendages wrap tighter around his neck, waist, and shoulders, lifting him off of the ground and holding him up in the air.

Red is crusting over one of Alfred's eyes but he manages to creak it open, only to find himself against face to face with the monster's sleek and visage. The appendages wrapped around him are freezing cold, only adding to the creeping sensation overcoming Alfred—the dread that he was truly going to face his death here, at the hands of the monster of his former classmate, violated and torn apart and left for birds to peck at as Ivan sinks back into the torment of darkness this form brings upon him.

Alfred's head lolls to his shoulder, but the thick of appendages about his collar prevent him from looking anywhere but the creature's face. Even through his clouding vision Alfred can see the strange ripple in the creature's face again, as if something was behind it, wanting to push and prod and poke up against the stretched paper white skin until it burst.

And then, right before his eyes, the beast's mask begins to peel away, flaking off into pieces like an cracked shell. Alfred's breath gets caught and he struggles to intake oxygen as the whiteness of the creature's face is stripped away, and its _real_ face emerges.

_Ivan's_ face—red-rimmed eyes wide and full of tears, ligature marks and fabric burns on his chin and jawline, his face reddened and swollen, purpling bruises around the part of that thick pale neck visible. His mouth hangs open, a dribble of blood trickling from torn lips obviously bitten through in the final throes of death.

Alfred chokes at the sight, a bit of frothy vomit brought on by the dizzying headache drooling down the side of his mouth.

It's a horrible sight, and yet, it stirs up great pity and sadness within Alfred's half conscious and desperate mind.

"_Please_," he begs, his numbing arms reaching as far as they can go. He manages to brush against the monster's shoulder, and the moment he does so, the writhing appendages _freeze_, and those holding Alfred slacken.

The boy takes in a huge gulp of re-gifted air, but he feels no relief as he looks at Ivan's eyes. Now, instead of simply being blank and rabid, like those of a monster—Alfred could see certain _emotion_ lingering in the gaze.

The purple eyes look sad. They look hurt. They look _wanting_.

Ivan's bitten and bloody lips move, and although Alfred hears the same crack of distortion, there is also a ghost of an audible whisper that reaches his ears.

_Alf-red._

The voice is so full of pain, so absolute _needy_. Alfred he suddenly, suddenly—

_Suddenly, he needs to touch Ivan_.

The binds on his arms are slack enough so that Alfred can reach forward a bit. He's forearms are shaky and weighed down with the shadowy appendages, but, eventually, Alfred is able to rest his hand on the monster's—_no, on Ivan's—_shoulders.

Ivan is cold, so, so cold.

"Please, _Ivan_. I'm—"

Alfred is cut off as all the appendages save the ones around his waist let go of him. Alfred cries out as all the extra support is taken away and the grip around his waist tightens painfully, but instead of being snapped in half, Alfred is simply lowered to the ground, where he stumbles before catching his balance.

Ivan waits. He watches Alfred from the eyes in the face sitting disproportionately on the hulking, suited body. The eyes are fixed on him, unmoving.

Maybe if Alfred can just say what he had always wanted to say to Ivan, what had stopped him from clearing all the guilt and pain that he had accumulated over the past year—

Perhaps if he could clear the air—perhaps, then, Ivan's—soul, spirit, whatever—could finally be cleansed of all the hate and anger that plagued and twisted him into the monster.

It was a long shot. But in the clutches of the beast with what surely was a concussion, he had no other option.

"Ivan, I'm—I'm sorry," Alfred feels his voice crack, and soon his eyes dampen and tears pour down his face.

"I'm so sorry, I was just a stupid kid and-oh God, Ivan I never wanted you to, to—"

Alfred feels the coils of the appendages against his back and he squeezes his eyes shut, believing that his last ditch attempt had failed and he was about to be torn limb from limb—

But the pull is not insistent or angry, it is not animalistic or murderous. It is soft, albeit cold, and Alfred finds himself relax a little, despite the fact that the horror that had been stalking him for the past few days was now curled around him in what because could be described as some form of distorted embrace.

And then Alfred feels _hands_ on his back, not the slithery appendages. The pale, dead arms that Alfred had seen before were now tightly wrapped around his middle and clasped at the other side, pulling him close to the frigid body.

A hand rubs his back once, mussing over his T-shirt and Alfred hears a whisper floating over, with only the slightest spark of scrambled noise at the end.

_Alfre-d_

And then the arms disappear. Alfred looks up at the loss of touch and only for a moment does he catch Ivan's face, still twisted in his death mask but somehow _calmer_ than before.

In the next second Ivan's face and the rest of the monster's blackened body disintegrates and fades away, leaving the bright of the moon behind it.

Alfred still stares at the spot where Ivan's face had been, feeling the lightest and _freest_ that he had felt in weeks. Maybe months.

_No. It's the happiest he's felt in a year and a half._

* * *

><p>The throbbing ache in his head is what gradually brings Matthew back into consciousness, his eyesight gradually blurring into clarity. The first thing he sees, of course, is the moon, bright and round and hanging high in the night.<p>

The next thing that he sees is Alfred.

His brother stands above him, staring off into the distance at something. Matthew tilts his head a bit, trying to see what he is looking at, but he cannot see or hear anyone else in their vicinity.

"Al? A-Alfred?" Matthew calls out to his brother, who had, surprisingly, not reacted at all to him awakening. But at the call, Alfred does look dumbly down at him-and it's at that point that Matthew realizes the mask of red blood covering half of his brother's face. Alfred's eyes stare at nothing for a moment, somewhere past Matthew's head, before they roll back into white.

Alfred collapses.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue next!<strong>


	5. Epilogue

**This is an oddly fluffy epilogue to such a dark fic, haha. But I enjoy it! And for people who wanted something darker, I may write an alternate ending to this. But I'm not totally sure. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>When Alfred wakes up, he is completely surrounding by warmth and white.<p>

His eyes are heavy and dull, mind sluggish to process exactly _where_ he is, or what he is doing there.

But, all he feels is comfort, and, at the moment, that is all that matter to him.

His eyes flutter open a little bit, and Alfred has enough of a glance to see that he's in a room—stark white and stainless, smelling of both medicine and freshly cut flowers.

_A hospital room_.

Alfred closes his eyes briefly, trying to remember what happened to him-but, finding that he can't quite recall, he lets his head loll to the side, where he rests for a moment before slowly opening his eyes.

There's someone in the room with him. It doesn't startle him or surprise him, the person is simply there.

From the soft, fuzzy outline, Alfred can see that the persona's back in turned. In front of him, on a small side table, sits a small, blue vase of sunflowers—bright, exuberant plants that liven up the whiteness of the room.

"M-Matt?" Alfred chances a guess even though his twin had never been that tall. His voice sounds too small to be his own, and yet the person tending to the sunflowers straightens up and turns around.

Alfred should be shocked, should be wary of who the person looking back at him is, but all he can manage is a sleepy smile at the fresh, clean, pale face, the beige blonde hair, and the lavender scarf that matches the figure's otherworldly eyes.

"Hey," Alfred whispers, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again. He feels comfortable and oh so safe, here, with the figure's ethereal warmth.

Once he opens his eyes the figure is close by his bedside, one large, warm hand gently placed against his cheek.

_Alfred_.

No distortion. No crackling. No anger. Just a name.

A name, and a soft smile.

_Alfred_.

He feels himself smile back a bit, a sheepish, goofy smile brought on by both the medication and the general feeling of affection and ease that washes over him.

The spirit draws a bit closer, kneeling next to the bedside, and Alfred can feel the presence, a soft, radiative warmth, seemingly pulsing from all around him, a protective cocoon where there had once been nothing but fear and guilt.

He feels himself gradually fall back into sleep, so before the stupor sets in Alfred pulls his hand from within the hospital sheets covering his bed and lays it out gently, fingers uncurled and palm opened in invitation.

Without hesitation, Ivan reaches forward and takes Alfred's hand in both of his.

* * *

><p><strong>So there we go! Slender Russia, which has consumed the past three or four days for me, is finally at its end. I hope you all enjoyed it (and were terrified by it) just like I did. :) All my reviewers, you guys are awesome as hell. 3 <strong>


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